


Unreliable Narrator

by dracox_serdriel



Series: Another Chance at the Brass Ring, or Season 9 Fan Fiction [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Little More Human, Alternate Season/Series, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angels, Angels are Dicks, Anxiety, Being a Prophet Sucks, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Accident, Case Fic, Confusion, Depression, Destiel - Freeform, Escape, Gen, Lucifer's Cage, M/M, Memory Loss, Michael's Fall, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, On the Run, Protective Dean Winchester, Sexual Content, Slash, The Big Picture, Unreliable Narrator, Witches, curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracox_serdriel/pseuds/dracox_serdriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a car wreck, a confused man wanders down a road in broad daylight. All he can remember is his first name: Sam. As he strains to remember his identity, he realizes that somethings - maybe everything - about his history must never be revealed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Schrodinger's Gun

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers** : Through episode 08x20 Pac-Man Fever

**Red Cloud, Nebraska**. The man slowly walked the double yellow line. He was hard to miss, tall and muscled. His face was blank, and his expression was confused. He turned his head left, then right, like an owl waiting for prey, but not a spec of malevolence existed in his eyes. 

Office Conner Swartz scribbled down notes on the man's general appearance for possible missing person reports. He noticed that the man's eyes slid over everything he saw, as if his vision failed him. 

Conner signaled for his partner to pull the car over. He approached the man, but the stranger didn't react. Conner put himself in the man's path to see if he would stop. The unknown man shifted to maneuver around Conner but just barely, as if he mistook the man for a lamppost.

"Excuse me? Sir?" Conner said. 

The man stopped. 

"Sir," Conner continued, "My name is Conner Swartz. I'm with the police."

"Hello," the man replied stiffly. 

"What's your name?" Conner asked. 

"I, uh – "

"Sir?"

The man thought very hard. "I'm sorry, I'm having some trouble remembering. My name is – it's – "

Names breezed through his head. Jimmy. John. Gabriel. Bobby. Raphael. Dean. Sam. Cas. Joshua. Some of them felt more familiar than others.

"Sir?" Conner repeated. 

"Sam," the man said. "My name is Sam."

"Sam? Are you sure?" Conner asked as he scribbled down more notes.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember," Sam replied. His face twisted out of confusion and into fear and distress. 

"Well, you've got a nasty head wound," Conner pointed out.

"Is that why my head hurts?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah, these men over here, they're EMT."

"Emergency Medical Technician," Sam said dully. "Is that right?"

"Yes, it is. They've been trying to help you, but you kept walking past them."

"I did? Sorry," Sam answered. "I didn't mean to. I didn't see them. I don't think." 

"Will you sit down?" Conner asked. 

Sam nodded his head yes and allowed himself to be walked over to the ambulance. 

Conner continued, "Can you tell me anything about what happened?"

Sam concentrated, but something made it difficult to focus. "I was in a car," he said, the memories moving back to him like sludge. "Someone I know was driving. I – is he okay?"

Sam looked around for the person he knew, but he couldn't see a car accident. 

"Sir, it's just you. Are you saying this happened in a car accident?"

The only thing he could remember was the visceral sensation of collision: flying metal, spoiled momentum, light, heat, pain.

Sam replied, "Yeah, that's what it was. I was in the car with my friend. He was driving, and I think I went to get help. He's hurt, you should go find him – "

"We haven't received any calls for accidents. No wrecks reported. You walked away, so probably your friend is okay," Conner cut Sam off in an attempt to prevent the amnesiac's rising panic. 

"No, please – " Sam began. 

"Officer, we need to get him to the hospital," the EMT said. "Sam? Sam? Listen to me."

Sam fixed his eyes on the EMT, a lean man in his early twenties. "My name is David, and I'm gonna make sure you're okay. This officer here, he's gonna look for your friend and his car, okay?"

"That's right," Conner offered. "I will."

"Okay. Okay, thank you," Sam said.

 

The EMTs wanted to strap him in for the ride. Sam didn't like this idea. As they explained to him the relative safety of the ride, his hand slid over his pocket. He recognized the size and shape of the object: it was a phone. He had the sudden desire to hide it from the police; he wasn't sure why.

The EMT began, "I'm going to give you some sedatives, so you can relax – "

"No," Sam said.

"Sir, we need to strap you down – "

"That's fine," Sam replied. "But sedatives are bad."

"There're bad?" David the EMT repeated. 

Sam thought hard. He knew sedatives would make him comatose, and he needed to guard this phone. He could only do that if he remained conscious. How could he convince the EMT not to give him any drugs?

"Bad for me," Sam said. "I think." Sam couldn't remember himself ever being sick before, but then again, he couldn't remember much. He did remember, however, that severe allergic reactions caused – 

"Anaphylaxis," Sam said.

"Are you saying you're allergic to all sedatives?" the EMT asked skeptically. 

"I can't remember," Sam said, keeping his calm in tact. "But I remember not breathing after getting them once."

"You remember what kind?"

Sam shook his head no. 

"David," the EMT's partner said from the front seat, "strap him down, skip the seds for now."

"Okay, no seds, but it's your loss."

The ride to the hospital seemed like a long one to Sam. David checked his blood pressure, ran some kind of heart check on him, and inspected his injuries during the ride. 

"You were very luck there, Sam," David told him. "Besides the head injury, you see perfectly stable."

"Except I can't remember anything," Sam replied sadly.

"Sometimes that can happen in trauma," David replied. "Almost always temporary. Just relax."

 

"Patient is awake and responsive but presenting with amnesia," David told the admitting nurse. "Indications of a possibly serious head injury."

The nurse allowed him to change into a hospital gown. Sam stowed his phone under his hospital bed with some kind of medical tape. He had the presence of mind to switch the phone on after he tucked it away.

"Mr. Doe," a nurse said after he'd changed. "We need to take you down to radiology for – "

"Radiology," Sam repeated. "For medical imaging. Am I getting an x-ray?"

"Head MRI," the nurse replied. "Would you please sit?"

She waved her hand at the wheelchair. Sam sat.

"We're gonna figure out who you are and where you belong, don't you worry," the nurse reassured him.

Sam felt uneasy, as if anyone figuring out his identity was a very bad idea. He couldn't understand why, so for the time being, he waited.


	2. Analepsis

"Good news, Mr. Doe," Doctor Li said. "We were able to stitch up your head injury, which, as it turns out, was very minor."

"Very minor?" Sam repeated back to the doctor. "What does that mean?"

"It's good news," Doctor Li repeated as he put the patient chart down. "It means your head trauma caused no injury to your brain. You don't even have a concussion. Given the degree of your head injury, that's a minor miracle."

"Minor miracle?"

"Well, the gash on your head was fairly deep, but had minimal impact past the bone," the doctor replied. "The police will be in to talk with you soon. In the meantime, please eat."

Sam looked down at his plate. He wasn't hungry, or he didn't remember what hunger felt like. He wasn't sure which, but he hadn't eaten. He picked up the utensils as a sign of compliance, but then he realized something.

"You said the police would be here?" Sam asked.

"Yes, in just a few minutes."

"Did they find my friend?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Doctor Li replied. "They want to see if they can evoke any memories about the accident."

"If they cannot?" Sam asked.

"Our facilities aren't equipped to deal with psychological trauma like yours. We'll likely transfer you to our facility in Lincoln."

"Lincoln?" Sam repeated. "Of what state?"

"Nebraska."

Sam nodded. "Will I get my memories back?" he asked.

"Most patients do recover," replied Doctor Li. "Some regain all of their memories. Others only regain partial memories, and a few – "

"Forget who they are forever?" Sam asked in a dull, hollow voice.

"No, no," the doctor dismissed. "You've been here a full day, and it's clear you can make new memories. Even if you don't remember anything that came before this, you can still figure out who you are. It'll just be different. The specialists at Lincoln Memorial will be able to give you a better understand of your situation."

"Thank you," Sam said, trying to appear happy. He started to eat; this appeased the good doctor, who left the room.

 

 _Sam remembered..._ the smell of pie inside the car. Coffee and soda added to the odorous experience. Led Zeppelin played loudly. This was how things were all the time, but something about the scenario was all wrong, like a haze filled the car. 

No, whatever was out of place here, it wasn't physical. Not something that could be smelled, touched, or seen. Sam could tell that somehow. The sensation he had was some kind of sixth sense. 

Whatever caused the haze, it was dangerous. Sam didn't warn anyone in the car – 

There was a third person in the car, besides his friend driving -

 

 _Sam zipped back to earth_ as the sound of his name dragged him down.

"Sam? Mr. Doe?" an officer repeated as he entered the room with another female officer. "I'm Officer Nelson, this is my partner Officer McCain."

"Call me Becky," Officer McCain said. 

"As long as you call me Sam," Sam replied.

"You remember your name?" Nelson asked. 

"I think my name is Sam," he said. "It feels like my name. I hear it a lot."

"Any luck on your last name?"

"I – " Sam thought hard. "No, sorry. I don't think people call me by my last name very much."

"Is that so?" Nelson asked. "What else do you remember?"

"Pain. Fear. Heat. Crunching... sorry, I, uh – I think there was a third person in the car."

"When did you remember that?" Nelson asked.

"Right before you walked in, after I started eating. I think the smell or taste – I dunno."

"You remembered being allergic to something according to the EMT," Nelson pressed. Suspicion bubbled out of every pore. 

"I wasn't certain. I'm not sure, but something like that – " Sam fumbled.

"Something like that?" Nelson patronized, "What does that mean exactly?"

"If I knew what it meant I would articulate that," Sam snapped. "It's like, the same thing you feel when you see something hot. You shouldn't touch it. You know that. Even if you can't get to a specific memory about it."

Sam paused for a few seconds and considered what he just said. "At least, that's how I knew not to touch something hot. Maybe it's different for regular people."

"Officer Nelson is just seeing if stress helps recover memories," Becky cut in, saving him from fumbling around for the right words. "We have a few questions for you, maybe they'll jog your memory."

"Okay," Sam replied.

"Do you know anything about this ring?" Nelson asked, placing it gingerly on his tray. 

It was a simple silver ring, and Sam couldn't help but feel violated that someone else handled it without his permission. He stared at it for a long time.

 

 _He remembered..._ Seeing a man bleeding freely behind the wheel. Words spilled out of the injured man's mouth, but he didn't understand them. He checked the man's, his friend's pulse, and felt it going strong. He shook him. The man's eyes fluttered opened. They were bright green and beautiful.

"You're going to be okay," Sam said to the green-eyed man. "But he's not doing too well." Sam pointed to another unconscious person outside the car. 

Everything blurred. The green-eyed man tried to tell him something, but he couldn't make out what. Sam took his friend's necklace, which he wore under his shirts. Just then, a woman approached him from behind – then confusion and darkness -

 

 _He snapped back to the present._ He was in a hospital gown with police officers. They just asked him about the ring.

"Sam?" Becky said. "Sam? Can you hear me?"

Her voice brought him back to this moment. He nodded. 

"His mother's wedding ring," Sam said out loud. 

"What?" Nelson said. 

"No, it's not. It's – my friend in the accident," Sam replied dumbly. "It's his. He wears it around his neck. Before I went for help I took it with me."

"Do you know why?" Nelson asked.

"Uh, maybe, to assure him I'd be back?" Sam suggested. "He was okay in the car. I mean, breathing and stuff, but someone else was hurt outside the car."

"Your friend was this somebody?" Becky asked.

Sam concentrated. "No, I don't think so. I think he was another passenger. I pulled him out of the car. Or maybe he got out himself?"

Blotted spots whirled before his eyes, "I'm sorry, I don't remember exactly. But another man was in the car with us. And I went for help. Even though the driver, my friend, his ring – he was okay."

"So an accident with three people in the car?" Becky asked. "You remember anything else?"

"A woman," he added blankly. "She, uh, approached us – "

A sudden, vivid flash of the woman's face hit him. She didn't feel familiar. 

Sam finished, "I think she just stopped to check on us. Maybe? Or she was in the other car? I don't know."

"So possibly four people total?"

"Maybe," Sam replied. "I'm sorry. I can't – "

"It's okay. The ring got us something. Do you remember anything about the driver? The car?" Becky asked quietly. 

"He had green eyes," Sam said, fixating his memory on the man's face. "And I love him."

"You love him?" Nelson repeated. "Like a gay thing?"

Sam tilted his head in confusion. "I don't know."

"Is he your boyfriend? Your son? Your dad? Your brother?" Nelson barked. "Come on!"

"Nelson," Becky jolted her partner back. "Chill out."

"Brother," Sam said with certainty. "He's my brother, I'm pretty sure."

"So right now we've got Sam whose got a brother with green eyes," Nelson summarized. "Good."

"Can I have this back?" Sam asked, holding up the ring.

"Absolutely," Becky replied. "And the rest of your stuff, too."

"Thank you," Sam replied. "What's going to happen to me?"

"We're gonna take your picture, put out an alert, chances are, your brother is looking for you," Becky replied. 

"We're running your prints now, hopefully we'll figure out who you are, and get you home," Nelson replied.

"The doctor said something about being transferred," Sam asked.

"Not until we get you processed," Nelson replied. "You just sit tight."

"Thanks," Sam replied with a smile.

 

 **Beatrice, Nebraska**. Colin jolted awake when his computer bleeped. His screen read: INCOMING ALERT.

He double clicked and his brain snapped into focus. The alert read: JOHN DOE DISCOVERED IN RED CLOUD, NEBRASKA. MINOR INJURIES. AMNESIA. IF YOU KNOW THIS MAN, PLEASE CALL. Contact information ran under the man's photograph. 

Colin ripped through the pile of forensic bags at his desk. He picked up the bag marked ASR-H121. The photo in the bag matched the photo of the man in the alert.

He printed it and raced upstairs to find those on the homicide case still at the office. Detective Sally Garfield and her partner Detective Albert Jennings stiffly sat with files spread out before them.

"Detectives, I found something!" Colin announced. 

"What?"

"Remember that weird bag with the bones and herbs in it? It had a photograph of a man," Colin said holding out the evidence bag.

"What about him?" Albert asked.

"He turned up in Red Cloud as a John Doe with Amnesia," Colin replied holding out the alert. "It's him."

"Says they found him yesterday morning," Sally pointed out. "Our girl wasn't dead till today, the afternoon."

"And this guy has amnesia," Colin said, "but she had a photo of him, right?"

"I'll call Red Cloud," Sally said lazily. "And hope for the best."

 

 **Red Cloud, Nebraska**. Sam feigned sleep the night before, and the nurses definitely bought it. They accepted his fake sleeping again without a second look.

Fear bubbled into his chest. He didn't know why, or he couldn't remember why, but something about his identity was meant to be hidden. If the police discovered who he was – 

He felt panic. He needed to get out of here. He didn't know why, but he knew he had to. The nurses checked on him one minute after the hour, then twenty-two minutes after the hour, then forty-seven minutes after the hour. For some reason he memorized that. It was nineteen minutes after the after, so he had to wait until the nurses checked on him again – 

"We need to wake up Mr. Doe," the familiar voice of Nelson chimed. "Right now."

Sam grabbed the fork he'd squirreled away from his dinner tray and slid it under his blanket. It might not be much of a weapon, but it was all he had.

"Mr. Doe?" Nelson said as he entered the room. "Please, Mr. Doe, wake up!"

Sam rolled over and looked up at him. "Yes, uh, Nelson?"

"Yes," he replied curtly. He turned to the nurse, "Please flip on the lights. Thanks."

The brightness shocked Sam's eyes; he flinched.

"Sorry about the rude awakening, Sam," Nelson began, but I just got a call from the police over in Beatrice. About a homicide that occurred earlier today."

"Homicide?" Sam asked blankly. "What – who - ?"

"Do you know this woman?" Nelson handed Sam a photograph.

His memory flashed back to the woman approaching him by the car. The photo was her carbon copy – 

"No," Sam lied. "I don't, I'm sorry. Should I?"

"She's dead, and apparently she had a photograph of you," Nelson continued.

"She did?" he asked. "Was there – "

"No, your photo didn't have a name or anything," Nelson said. "We don't even know her name, actually."

"I'm sorry," Sam repeated.

"One more thing: we ran your fingerprints and came up empty. Locally and nationally. You'll be transferred to Beatrice tomorrow morning. Maybe you'll get lucky and someone there will know who you are."

"Thank you," Sam replied softly. "I'd like to try to sleep again, if that's okay."

"I'm out of questions."

 

Sam waited four hours before making his move. He gathered everything he had on him when he came to the hospital, including the phone he'd managed to tape under his bed. No calls came in. Maybe no one knew he had it? He made a mental note to check through the contacts once he got in the clear. 

He dressed noiselessly and slipped out a window. He didn't know where to go, but he needed to find a place where no one would look for him. He followed the signs that indicated a bicycle path and soon found himself ducking under streetlights. 

He pulled out his phone and checked through the contacts. Most of the names were meaningless to him, except for one: BROOKS HAWTHORNE VI. The name was false; how likely would it be for a name like that to continue onto six generations? But he knew it concealed the true identity of a person he recognized. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

He dialed, and a message machine picked up. The voice drawled, "You've reached my cell, so leave me your name, number, and situation, and I'll call you back!"

Beep!

"Hello? Hi. This is Sam. I am in Red Cloud, Nebraska. I think you can help me. I can't remember who I am. You must know. Sorry if this message is strange. Please call me back," Sam said into his phone before he hung up.

 

The sun was barely in the sky, and it was very cold. Yet people were moving. Sam gravitated to the library, which he thought would be a good hideout for a few hours. He didn't have any money to take a bus, and even if he did, where would his destination be?

He had to hope that Brooks Hawthorne the Sixth would call him back.

As he combed through books on neurology and memory loss, he felt something tickling the back of his brain. He slid his opposite finger over his friend's ring. A memory was ready to explode –

 

 _He remembered..._ being knocked on his ass outside of a broken and beaten car. His green-eyed friend struggled, lucid and aware of everything around him. 

"Aww, doll," the woman said. She was the one in the picture. The dead woman. "You can't save your friends, so do us both a favor, and save yourself."

"Cas! Castiel!" Dean blurted at the top of his lungs, staring at the unconscious man on the ground. 

He looked at the woman and yelled, "You get away from him you bitch!"

"Name's Camille," she replied. Fire erupted from her hands and shot straight at the car. Dean screamed out in pain.

Sam made eye contact with him as Dean's light faded from his eyes. Despair coiled and twisted around his insides, and his heart broke open - 

"No!" someone yelled. Maybe he yelled it? He wasn't sure.

 

 _He snapped back to reality._ A book covered his face. He had literally fallen over into it. No one was around. Dean, the green-eyed man, his brother, was dead? That couldn't be right. 

After all, women can't shoot fire out of their hands. And if this one could, why was she found dead a few cities over? Confusion and denial choked him, and he sank down behind the library stacks, alone and terrified.


	3. Meaningful Echo

Dean's last words were, "Conquer me all and jus' – "

He didn't even finish the phrase. Sam breathed, but the air coming in became heavy, dredged, tiring. What did it mean? How did he lose track of this man Dean? How did he lose his memory? And who killed that woman in Beatrice?

His phone rang. 

"Hello?"

"Hey there, Sam?"

"Do you know me?"

"Yer callin' from one of Dean's phones," the man said. "You said you lost your memory?"

"Yes, I did, and – we were in an accident," Sam replied.

"A car accident?" he asked. 

"Yes, and your name was the only one I recognized in this phone. Your fake name, I mean," Sam explained. "Brooks Hawthorne."

"Ha!" the man replied. "Look, I dunno who you are or whatcher up to, but I ain't no fool, you read me? So you can drop it."

"Drop it?"

"Yeah, buddy."

"I'm up to anything – "

"You should lose that phone, by the way," the man replied. "Garth out!"

Sam's heart sunk at the dial tone.

 

Sam found it easy to hide out in the library. Few people came in during the day, and the library staff was limited. 

But the ease of his hiding made his realizations all the more overwhelming. Dean's words echoed over and over again, "Conquer me all and jus' – " 

He felt trapped, like an animal. He didn't know who he was, or where he came from, or why his identity was secret, but for whatever reason, the death of this man, this Dean, drained the energy from his body. 

Sam took the ring off his finger. Dean wore this around his neck every day. He took it as a reminder. Why would he take his friend's ring? Did he do it before he died and just forget to replace it afterwards? Why couldn't he remember? 

A tear slid down his cheek. He replaced the ring and tried to concentrate.

 

Sam had stared at the same page for hours and not read a single word. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Doe?"

Someone moved closer to him. "Sam?"

He looked up at the woman. 

"Do you remember me?" she asked.

"The officer from yesterday," Sam replied. "Becky."

"That's right."

"Can you tell us what you're doing here, Sam?" Nelson asked. 

Sam looked at the pile of books he pulled out from the stacks. There wasn't much in the way of neurology or medicine in the local library, but he managed to pull out about a dozen. 

"I was trying to remember," Sam offered. 

"So you climbed out a window to go to the library?" Nelson asked. 

"I doubted the nurses would let me leave," Sam replied. "If they could let me leave."

"So you snuck out instead?" Nelson asked. "Curiously right after we mentioned the murder of another unknown person."

"Curiously?" Sam asked. "If someone told you some dead person had your photo, wouldn't you do everything you could remember?"

"Yes," Becky said kindly, "but you understand, don't you? Running away like this doesn't look good."

"I didn't – I went to the library," Sam fumbled. 

"And now we're taking you into custody, until we can ship you off to Beatrice," Nelson said happily. "Please stand up."

"Okay," Sam said quietly. 

"Turn around," ordered Nelson. 

"Nelson," Becky said, "we don't need to cuff him."

"And I don't need to whistle when I take a whizz," Nelson retorted. "But I do anyway. Turn around – "

"Mr. Doe. Sam," Becky said. "Will you accompany us without incident to the police station?"

"Yes," Sam replied.

"Then there's no need to cuff you. Is there?"

Nelson rolled his eyes as Becky guided Sam out to the car.

 

Something about being in a cell was almost comforting. He deserved to be punished. He wasn't sure why. Maybe because he survived what Dean didn't. 

He obsessed over Dean's words. "Conquer me all and jus' – " Over and over again in his head.

 

 _He remembered..._ holding Dean's head in his hands. There was no fire, nothing was wrong.

"You listen to me," Dean said. "We get separated, and you meet us, okay? Concordia, Kansas."

"Concordia Kansas," Sam repeated back.

"Good, don't forget. Concordia, Kansas."

Dean's face had a trickle of blood on it, but otherwise he was fine. When did this happen? When did the woman approach him? He -

 

 _Something jerked him back to the present._ He was in a holding cell. Office McCain, Becky, approached him. 

"Here's your stuff from processing," she said. "You can have it back now. Nelson agreed."

"Oh, thanks," Sam said, taking his ring, bottle, and phone back from Becky through the bars. 

"Look, I came back in here because, well, you've been behaving oddly for hours now. Pacing, grumbling. If there's something you remember, maybe I can help. Before you're carted off to Beatrice."

"That's just it, I can't remember anything else," Sam said desperately. "Yesterday pieces started to come back." He pointed to the ring on his finger. "My friend's ring."

"That helped you remember," Becky said. "But nothing else has?"

"No," Sam replied sadly. "I don't know what else to do."

"Well, you went to a library," Becky began. "That means you're into old school research, not internet searches. You were reading hefty anatomy and biology books. Did they make sense to you?"

"Neurology and physiological psychology," Sam corrected.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Okay."

"That means you're intelligent. Technical. You probably read a lot. Maybe your job relates to the medical field?"

"I don't know," Sam replied.

"Teaching? Research in lab?"

Sam shook his head. 

She said, "I only gave you back that flask, though because the hospital said it had water in it."

"Holy water," Sam corrected.

"You remember that?"

"No, the symbol in the front – never mind. It doesn't matter."

"Your phone rang," Becky said. That got Sam's attention. 

"Who was it?" he asked. "Did they know who I am?"

"When I introduced myself, the guy said he must've called the wrong number," she replied. "He didn't know you when I described you."

"Did you tell him I lost my memory?"

"Yep. I asked him about you, and he said no."

Sam deflated. 

"You'll be heading out in an hour or so," Becky said. "I just feel like your holding back. From us."

"If I'm holding back from anyone, it's myself," Sam said dryly. "Maybe that's a good thing."

"What do you mean?"

"I just have this bad feeling," Sam said. "I can't – I don't – " Frustration enveloped him. "Never mind, it doesn't matter."

 

Nelson led Sam out of the holding cell roughly. 

"Officer McCain might think you're a good guy," he said, "but I'm not convinced. So I'm driving you to Beatrice, you understand? Don't think I won't shoot you."

"Okay," Sam said quietly.

Becky made sorry eyes at him as Nelson dragged him out to a car. "Good luck, Sam," she said.

"Shut up, Becky!" Nelson barked. "Stop being nice to this guy. He's trouble."

He dragged Sam out to the car and pushed him into the back seat. 

"You don't recognize me, do you?" Nelson asked. 

"Officer Nelson," Sam said. 

"Actually, my name is Gideon," he said. "And we've been looking for you."

Confusion set in. 

"What's happened to you?" Gideon/Nelson said.

"I don't know, I have amnesia."

"You can't have amnesia!" barked Gideon. "Think!"

"Nelson!" Becky's voice came over the radio. "There's someone here to see you. Says its urgent."

"I'll be right back," Nelson/Gideon said to Sam. "Don't think this is over."

Sam saw a blast of pure, white light and heard Nelson/Gideon's scream. He struggled to the window and saw Becky on the ground, unconscious. Gideon/Nelson was gone.


	4. Chandler's Law

Dean, the green-eyed man from his memory, stood over Becky's body, checking her pulse. He stowed his gun and walked over to the cop car.

"No, you're dead!" Sam blurted, backing away from the window. 

"It's okay, it's me," Dean said as he moved to the car. "Are you okay?"

"I saw you die," Sam continued, "How are you alive?"

"I didn't die, I was in a car accident. I was hurt really bad, but you saved me. Don't you remember?"

Dean opened the door and motioned for Sam to come out. "Come on, we don't have much time," Dean told him. 

"You're dead," Sam repeated.

"Okay, let's start with the basics. Do you know who I am?" Dean asked. 

"Dean," Sam repeated. "You're my brother."

Dean's expression became incredulous. "We'll work on that one, but you remember who I am? That you trust me?"

"Yes," Sam said.

"Then trust me now. We've gotta get outa here, okay?"

"Why did you knock that woman out?" Sam asked. "She was kind."

"So she wouldn't get in trouble," Dean explained. "If she's unconscious when you go missing, she can't be held responsible."

"Oh," Sam said. That sounded sensible for him. "Where are we going?"

"Out of here for one thing."

"Concordia Kansas?" he asked as he started to follow Dean away from the police station.

"What?"

"I remembered you told me to meet you in Concordia Kansas," he said. "It took me a long time."

Dean pulled Sam to a pickup truck. "Get in the cap, I'll ride with you, try to figure it out."

"Who is driving?" he asked.

"My brother," Dean said. 

"Our brother?" Sam asked.

"No, just mine. Come on, I'll explain."

 

"You're crazy," Sam said to Dean in the cap. "You're crazy. That's why I lost my memory. Because my family is crazy!"

"Cas, listen to me!" Dean shouted. "You are not Sam. Sam is up front driving, okay. Your name is Castiel. You are an Angel, we met about five years ago when you pulled me out of Hell – "

"This is nonsense!" Sam bellowed. "Nonsense!"

He took the ring off his finger and threw it at Dean. "Take this back," Sam barked, "and keep it. I don't remember why I took it, but whatever the reason, it can't be worth it!" 

With that, he pulled a Borne-stunt and leaped out the back cap. 

"Sam!" Dean yelled to the driver, "Pull over! Now!"

Sam pulled off the road while Dean examined the ring Castiel just threw at him. It looked similar to his old ring, except pristine. He lost his ring years ago, but he remembered it was beat up and battered. This couldn't be it. 

He popped out of the car.

"Where's Cas?" Sam asked as he came around back.

"He jumped out."

"Jumped out?"

"He's fine. I think. Anyway, we didn't find any hex bag with that witch bitch, you think this is what did him in?" Dean showed Sam the ring.

"Witch mojo that works on an angel?" Sam asked skeptically. "I don't know Dean."

"What if it's not witch mojo?" Dean pointed out. "One of the chumps at the police station was an angel. I had to blast his ass to Oz before I could spring Cas."

"So an angel sent a witch to dope Castiel?" 

"I don't know!" Dean barked. "But right now he thinks he's you."

"Me?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "So I'm hoping something's got a hold on him. Preferably something we can destroy."

"I guess that witch could've made this out of an angel blade," Sam suggested. "That could make it affective against angels."

"Good, how do we blow it up?"

Sam shrugged. "Put the ring down on that rock."

Dean obliged, and Sam pulled out the colt. 

"Really – "

"Yep, the Colt. Okay?"

"Okay," Dean said. 

BANG! The ring exploded with white light and morphed into a gooey residue. Sam collected it just in case.

Dean looked behind the car. 

"Where did he go?" Dean asked. 

"You're the one who let him leap out the back," Sam said, annoyed. 

"You're not helping!"

"Climb in the back and call to him, maybe he'll teleport."

"Awesome."

 

The man who thought he was Sam for several days had no idea who he was. Certainty fell away like a mist rising, and nothing replaced it. He wandered for several hours before someone stopped and offered him a ride. 

"Where you headed?" the truck driver asked.

"South," the man replied. 

"Whatcher name?"

"Cas," he said.

The name felt right. It fit better than Sam, anyway. 

"I'm headed South, boy, yer lucky, com'on."

 

They had driven up and down the same stretch of highway for hours. Dean kept calling to Castiel, but he had no response. 

"Sammy, let's drive to Concordia."

"Sorry, what?"

"He said something about meeting up in Concordia," Dean replied. "He said we'd agreed on it."

"We did?"

"No, we didn't, I think it's part of the whammy. If that's the case, he could be screwed. Something could be waiting for him – "

"Us is more like it. If he still thinks he's me, he'll be on foot."

"You mean he'll steal a car," Dean said from the back.

"Okay, fine, but he's not that far ahead of us either way. Keep trying for him, okay?"

Dean nodded.

 

 **Concordia, Kansas**. Cas moved through Concordia as if he lived there all his life. His feet led him to an old motel just inside the town line. He'd been here before. 

"You came," a voice said quietly. "I'm glad."

Cas turned and looked a young man with a very bad skin problem. 

"Do I know you?" Cas asked.

"We're brothers. I asked you to come here."

"No, you look nothing like my brother."

"You have many brothers, Castiel," he replied. "But I am the brother you've most in common with."

"You're my big brother?" he asked.

"Yes," the man said. "We haven't spoken in years. I'm sorry I had to put you through all this to get you here."

"It's okay, you are my brother," Cas said happily. Even as he spoke, his stomach dropped. Something indicated that his brother was a very bad man. He should run.

"Something's gone very wrong at home," the man said. "Our big brother, older than me, Michael, he's dead."

Michael. That name reminded him of something. Michael wasn't dead. He was locked away – 

"No, he's locked up," Cas said. "He's fine."

"Not anymore, I'm afraid," the man continued. "I saw him. I mean, his body, after it happened."

"Someone – did someone do this to him?" Cas asked.

"Yes," the man said. "It had to be done, you see, otherwise none of this would be happening."

"Sorry?"

"Castiel, I had to kill Michael, it was the only way to break open the last lock on the cage. I only did it because he tried to kill me to free himself. It was self defense, you understand?"

The man put a hand on Castiel's shoulder. The weight of it made his knees buckle. He did remember. Everything. 

"Lucifer – "

"Yes, Cas, it's me. And I need something from you – "

"No," Castiel pushed the man's hand off his shoulder and backed away. "I won't help you."

"Michael didn't let me get away scot free. He took a piece of me. Several, actually. And I'm afraid I need to replace it to go back home," Lucifer said. 

"Replace it? You mean your Grace?"

"I will make you a binding promise, little brother," Lucifer said. "Not to touch either of the Winchesters. Not Dean. Not Sam."

Castiel produced his angel blade.

"Stay away from me, the Winchesters, and Heaven – "

Lucifer laughed and attacked, knocking Castiel on his ass. No matter how many pieces Michael tore from Lucifer, the archangel was still terrifyingly strong – 

Bang! A scream pierced the air. Lucifer clutched his neck, and it healed. But the moment of pain allowed Castiel freedom; he grabbed his blade and teleported to Sam.

"I told you, Sam," Lucifer said. "That gun can't kill me."

Cas grabbed Sam by the scruff of the neck and disappeared. 

"It's okay," Lucifer said. "I'll be seeing you two soon enough."

 

 **The Bunker. Lebanon, Kansas**. Dean paused a moment before he broached the subject. "Are you sure it was Lucifer?"

"If it was, he was weakened," Cas offered. 

"The gun didn't kill him," Sam pointed out.

"He wanted my Grace," Cas said. "Lucifer at full power would have no trouble taking it from me. But now? I don't think he can do anything without an angel blade."

"Michael could do that? Rip chunks of him out?"

"He was suppose to defeat Lucifer in the final battle," Cas pointed out. "Maybe this is how."

"If Michael was stronger than Lucifer, how did Lucy get the drop on him in the box?" Dean asked.

"It has something to do with the sinkhole being made," Cas said. "Whatever Jesse's instructions, something either went wrong, or there was a side effect, or something."

"Or maybe there wasn't one," Kevin said. He entered the war room. "Maybe this was the intention."

"You mean God let Jesse free Satan? Why?"

"To finish things," Kevin said.

"Nothing's ever finished," Castiel replied. His head hurt. 

Dean's phone rang. 

 

"Yeah, Garth, thanks. Would you burn that for us?" Dean asked his phone.

Castiel shook as the memories of the crash came back to him. He became annoyed, angry, bitter. 

"You rock, Garth," Dean said. "Looks like it worked. I'll call you when I know more."

He hung up. "Burning the hex bags they had in evidence out in Beatrice seemed to do the trick," he said to Sam and Cas.


	5. Retrograde

_Several days ago..._ Castiel and Kevin waited in the Bunker for Sam and Dean to return. 

"Cas," Kevin pleaded. "Sam and Dean aren't answering their phones."

"Dean called me a few hours ago to tell me they were on their way back. They closed up the case."

"Right, but neither one is responding at all," Kevin said. "Something's wrong, Castiel. Please."

"I will investigate. Stay here."

"Okay, just come right back. Okay?"

 

Cas teleported to the roadside. Sam bled freely on the ground outside of the busted Impala. Dean would be furious at the wreck –

The angel ran to the driver-side door to retrieve Dean. He was unconscious and bleeding. Taking two figures, Castiel tried to heal Dean. 

It failed. 

Something was blocking him. It was inside the car, whatever it was. Castiel focused: there was a hex bag or a coin somewhere, all he needed to do was destroy it. 

He pulled Dean out of the car, then flashed white through the car to see if he could obliterate the hex bag. Something fizzled. It worked.

Cas turned around and placed a hand on Dean's cheek. His lungs started working again. He gasped. 

"What the hell?" Dean asked.

"You were in an accident. A witch did something to you," Cas replied. He went over to Sam and checked his pulse. He was okay. 

"Aww, doll," a woman said. "You can't save your friends, so do us both a favor, and save yourself."

"Cas! Castiel!" Dean blurted at the top of his lungs.   
"You get away from him you bitch!"

"Name's Camille," she replied.

Cas used telekinesis to throw her sideways into the tree the car hit. 

"Cas, what's going on with Sam?" Dean asked, trying to get to his feet.

"He's unconscious," the angel replied. "Hold on – "

The angel reached out to heal Sam, but a red searing pain erupted within him. Green and purple passed through his blood; whatever the witch had poisoned Sam with grasped hold of Castiel.

"Cas!" 

"It's too late," Camille said. She was fine from the pain. "He came to save his two pets, like I knew he would."

"Who the hell are you? And what – "

"My master's gotta plan for him, boy. But not you," she zapped him with something and he fell down. 

Sam jumped her, and she struck him out too.

She sauntered up to Castiel. "Meet me in Concordia, Kansas. Do you understand?"

Castiel nodded blankly. In the blink of an eye, he teleported away and knew no more.

 

Dean sat next to Cas on their bed. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean asked him.

"No," the angel replied.

"Good," Dean said. "We're men. We don't talk about things."

"I've branded Kevin's ribs, as well as the hunters living with him, and his mother, just in case," Castiel offered.

"That's where you disappeared to? New Jersey?"

"He wants to finish his finals," Cas said. "He said he'd hide after the semester is over."

Dean leaned into Castiel. "We've beat this guy before, Cas," Dean pointed out.

"At a terrible cost," Cas reminded him.

"Things are different now," Dean said. "You broke the binding spell on Death. The other horsemen are out of commission – "

"Michael is dead."

"Yeah, he is."

Silence. 

Castiel stared away from Dean, purposely averting his eyes. 

"Cas," Dean said softly. "Look at me."

Cas shook his head, no. 

"Then close your eyes," Dean said. 

He didn't ask why, but Cas shut his eyes. 

Dean turned him and placed a kiss very softly on his lips. The angel welcomed the warmth, the invitation to physical entanglement without thought. While there were many things Castiel enjoyed about his experience being a little more human – things like food, physical affection, sex, laughter – never before had he experienced such desperation. Desperation to disappear into humanity. To be remarkably finite, fleeting even. To be a vessel instead of taking a vessel. 

But Castiel was not human; he was an angel lost in humanity. The Winchesters were his anchor, and Dean healed him with solace.

The angel decided that who and what he was would be among tomorrow's problems. 

He pressed Dean's back into the bed, slipping off his pants and seamlessly throwing off his own. Cas opened his eyes to find Dean's emeralds shining back at him.


End file.
